“It isn’t exactly a high risk,” Solo responded, with an irritatingly encouraging grin. “I honestly believe you will be able to make it work. Trust me.”
Illya removed the brown hounds-tooth jacket and handed it back to Napoleon.
“I will stick with muted, non-patterned suits.” Illya told him.
Napoleon sniffed, dismissively. His partner was a lost cause when it came to sartorial elegance.